


Wheels of Fire

by Sleepless_Malice



Series: Fëanorian Week 2018 [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fire, Fëanor's POV, Gen, child birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/pseuds/Sleepless_Malice
Summary: Fire was a constant in Fëanor's life.- written for Fëanorian Week 2018





	Wheels of Fire

**Wheels of Fire**

*

Blood had streaked his mother’s robes, staining the silver fabric with crimson speckles, as she had welcomed him into the world with thunder clashing outside. That was what he had been told; by the midwife because his father would not speak of such matters. She had also said that his skin had been strangely hot to her touch, as if fires burnt inside his little body, ready to devour when Míriel had felt deadly cold to her hands.

Fëanor had not understood the implication back then; its connection to his beloved mother’s fate and perhaps he even now refused to understand, watching the flames leap towards the horizon.

Watching the flames dance, Fëanor found comfort and warmth and in the fire’s soothing whispers he heard his mother’s lullabies.

*

His wife was kissed by fire, most beautiful to look upon in the golden light of Laurelin when her hair shone like threads of copper, dancing in the wind like leaping flames. Even back whilst he was still an apprentice in her father’s forge he had admired and watched her whenever he could though it had always sparked fierce longing.

When the fires of the forge were extinguished late at night, a fire of an entirely different sort wound its way up Fëanor’s legs. Bathed in the glow of the candles he would think of her, about the loosely styled hair with a few strands always tumbling in her face; then he dared to imagine what it would be like if she lay there, gasping and moaning, consumed by the fire that burnt inside of him.

Sometimes, her skin was kissed by fire too, with heat emanating from it whenever he touched and caressed every inch of her until the hour of the mingling was near. From the way her lips curved to the glint in her eyes, Nerdanel looked like the embodiment of mischief and for that, he loved her all the more.

For many years they led a content life with their sons, work, and many other pleasant things to occupy their time. Now that he thought of it, Fëanor realized how fleeting those moments truly had been.

Regret was a concept he was not quite familiar with, although sometimes he wondered if the fire between them had burned too brightly so that nothing of the beauty of it was left alive. Fact was their love had died slowly over the cause of time like a fire. With only smoldering embers left, they had tried to rekindle their love and happiness by giving life to the twins. It had not helped. Their love had turned to bleak ashes, cold and harsh and unwelcoming.

*

Gazing across the vast sea with the air still thick with smoke, the voices in Fëanor’s mind were deadly still. The fire of his own heart and the memory of his creations was everything – his curse and blessing, the bane of existence; it was the element that had taken his youngest from him.

Sometimes, in these strange lands Fëanor looked at his first born and saw his abandoned wife instead, her eyes reflecting a dull sadness instead of the mischief he so much had loved; the silent accusation with which she had regarded him when he told her he would leave Aman behind, the look that had never been erased. He did not resent Maedhros for looking across the ocean that way, though naturally, it pained Fëanor to a greater extent than he would ever admit. It was then when he sought comfort in the flames and the fire spoke to him, its ensnaring voice whispering the strangest words. Then he knew he had followed his heart.

_What other choice had there been?_

It was nights like these that Fëanor came closest to peace in his restless mind, if peace there could be with his creations still lost.

_‘To the everlasting Darkness.’_

*

The red glow turned a flickering orange, brighter and brighter as the flames licked upwards along his body and the Oath, recited word by word, bled from Fëanor’s lips. Just as he had come into the world he left it – kissed by fire, as Darkness everlasting wrapped its cold embrace around him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @grundyscribbling for the beta <3


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